


Golden Boy

by VeronicaFerCard



Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes Recovering, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-29 09:44:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3891661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeronicaFerCard/pseuds/VeronicaFerCard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He dreams about a Golden Boy, the only thing he never really forgot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The story takes place after AoU, but there are only some slight references to the movie, nothing spoilery. I also used the comics as reference, especially for Bucky's past with Nat and his relationship (not romantic, god help us) with Fury.

It is that kind of dream again, the kind which doesn’t feel like a dream, when his mind is in that state between consciousness and the vagueness of sleep. He is in a street, one he knows, or knew once, he thinks. The Golden Boy is with him again. He calls him that because of the color of the boy’s hair, which shines pretty when sunlight hits the back of his head. It’s all he can see of the Golden Boy, his back. He tries to call him, but is not like he doesn’t know this child, he does. The Golden Boy is the only thing he never really forgot.

He is a child too, now. His hands are small and both made of flesh. He is missing a tooth, but is not from a fight, another one will grow in its place, or so he’s been told. The scratch on his knee doesn’t come from a dodged bullet, but from miscalculating a jump from a tree. It had been a dare, from the Golden Boy.

There is a piece of chalk in his hand; he is using it to write something on the ground. **JBB**. In big block letters, it’s a bit messy, but he is getting the hang of it. There is more letters right next to these. **SGR**. It’s messier than the first block, because he had erased and rewritten more than twice. His S keeps turning into a funky 5. He isn’t like the Golden Boy; he can’t draw all of them neat letters. He isn’t good like the Golden Boy.

“James,” someone is calling.

 _James?_ He looks at the drawing. **JBB**.

_“Your name is James Buchanan Barnes.”_

**JBB**

“James.”

_Best friend since childhood, Bucky Barnes and Steven Rogers --_

Steven Rogers.

**SGR**

“James?”

_where inseparable on both schoolyard --_

“James!”

_\--and battlefield._

His head was hurting. His dream that wasn’t a dream stared to spin, the Golden Boy was gone and he didn’t know the boy anymore.

Someone touched his real arm and in a reflex he lashed out with the metal one, but when he opened his eyes she was nowhere near him. He hadn’t heard her move but it wasn’t a surprise. No one could hear a spider.

“Natalia,” his voice was rough with sleep and disuse.

“James,” she smiled. “You were dreaming,” Romanova explained. “Wanna tell me about it?”

No, he didn’t want to tell her anything, he couldn’t. Now that his eyes where open all he could see was the blank walls, the bathroom door, the metal table welded to the floor with its pair of chairs where Natalia was sitting, and the bed he was occupying. Even if he closed his eyes; that would be the only image he would see. The same scenario he had been seeing for the last two months.

Romanova was a recent addition.

He had heard her arguing with Fury for the first time 48 hours ago. She did not agree with his captivity. Fury had said it was necessary. They both mentioned the Captain. Neither of them seemed to care about _his_ opinion as much as they cared about what Rogers would think. But in all honesty he had no complaints about his current situation. He was well fed and maintained. He knew what he was getting into when Fury had approached him.

“I don’t remember,” he told her the truth because there was no point in omitting that information. It was irrelevant, like most things seemed to be lately.

“You will.” She wasn’t talking about the dream anymore. That much was clear to him. It seemed to be his current assignment, to remember things, places, people. A life which belong to someone who once bore his face.

But, try as he might, all he had so far was those memory-like dreams, which always escaped his grasp when he opened his eyes.

Nevertheless, he felt at ease in Natalia’s presence, as at ease as an enhanced killing machine could feel, anyway. There was something about her, he couldn’t place it, but he was well aware that there was some kind of history between the two of them, even if he didn’t remember.

“I’m sorry for shooting you,” he apologized as the most recent memory of Natalia passed through his mind.

She glanced at him through her lashes, an amused smirk playing upon her lips. “Which time?”

He felt his cheeks getting hot and averted his gaze, looking at the floor instead. “All of them,” he mumbled under his breath, unable to look Natalia in the eye. There was so much he had done, he couldn’t even phantom. He wondered if he would ever be free from the ghosts of his actions.

This time he saw her approaching. She knelt down in front of him, but didn’t make any move to touch him. “Hey,” Natalia called and waited until he looked at her. “You do know that none of this is on you, right?” He began to shake his head and now she did touch him, squeezing his left knee with more strength than he would have expected from someone trying to be reassuring, but he was okay with it. “They made you do those things, James. You had no choice. I know because I didn’t either.”

“And yet, you’re here now, on the good side.”

“So are you,” she smiled, letting go of his knee with a pat before getting up. “You’re free.”

He nodded.

“Can I – uh, can I ask you a favor?” It was hard to get the words out, not because of pride, he’d been a machine for decades, he didn’t have any; but because he knew he had no right to ask for anything, especially to someone he had tried to kill more than once.

“Shoot!” She said and for a moment his entire body went rigid with tension and shame, until he heard her soft giggle.  “It’s just an expression, James. Too soon, I suppose?” He shrugged, not knowing what to say to that, but it seemed to be enough of an answer for her. “You can ask.”

He took the small piece of paper from the pocked of his jeans; it was the only thing on him Fury had allowed him to keep, besides the clothes he was wearing. It was crumpled and torn at the edges where he had ripped from the rest of the photograph at the Smithsonian. Just another crime – albeit a small one – in his long list of wrongdoings.

He offered the photo with James Barnes’ grinning face to Natalia. She stared at it for some time before looking back at him with a raised eyebrow. “Could you cut my hair like that,” he explained, pointing at the picture. “I want to – I,” he stammered and dropped his shoulders, feeling lost. “It was me, wasn’t it?”

Her features softened and she smiled at him sadly. He didn’t deserve her pity but he welcomed it. Something behind Natalia’s eyes told him she had been in his shoes, some way or another. She understood.

She left him and came back some hours later, with a pair of scissors, a comb and a mirror. He sat on a chair and held the mirror up as she worked. He got tense again, with the scissors so close to his face, she could blind him or slice his throat open if she felt like it. Although he was almost entirely sure Natalia wouldn’t do any of those things, he couldn’t bring himself to relax until she announced she was done.

He faced his reflection on the mirror and then compared it with the photograph. The hair was the same, and so was the face – she didn’t bring a razor so there was nothing they could do about his beard, though Natalia trimmed with the scissors, _to take a little of the homeless vibe off_ –; but when he tried to copy the smile it came out as a grimace. James Barnes’ eyes didn’t look like they were haunted by nightmares, and his shoulders didn’t held any guilt. He gave the mirror back to Natalia.

He felt like a fraud.

She squeezed his shoulder. “One step at a time,” Natalia said before quietly leaving the room.

Fury came by with dinner later; he commented on the hair but said nothing about Natalia’s visit. Fury wasn’t happy about that, but the director’s happiness was something that did not rank high in his list of priorities, even though he _had_ tried to kill the man. He had tried to kill a lot of people, and he had succeeded most of the time. Nicholas Fury wasn’t the best of them.

“I wanna see Rogers,” he announced when Fury was about to leave.

“When you’re ready.”

“Shouldn’t I be the judge of that?”

Fury didn’t dignify him with an answer.

That night he lay in his bed staring at the photograph until sleep caught up with him, and his last conscious thought was that he should have taken the part with Rogers’ face as well.


	2. Chapter 2

They are older now, him and the Golden Boy. He is getting ready, they have a date.

“I don’t see the point of these things,” the Golden Boy says for the tenth time, he is all dressed up, his shiny hair combed back. He looks real good.

“Oh, for God sakes, stop complaining,” he sighs, looking away from the Golden Boy to the perfume bottle on the dresser, he wants to put some but Golden Boy is allergic to almost every damn thing and he doesn’t want to trigger anything.

“Seriously, what’s the point of a double date if _you_ always end up with both girls?”

“That’s ‘cause you don’t make an effort, St –”

“Rise and shine, Barnes!”

He groaned in response to Fury’s cheerfulness, pulling the pillow from under his head to cover his face against the annoying light. He deliberately took more time than he would have otherwise, to get out of bed and ready for whatever it was that had brought Fury to drop by. When he was done, he sat down in front of the former S.H.I.E.L.D. director with an attitude that would have earned him a slap across the face from his handlers. Fury just looked at him unimpressed.

“I think is time to put those skills of yours to some good use,” Fury said, dropping a file on the middle of table. “Call it your path to redemption.” As he had made no move for it, the director slowly pushed the file in his direction.

“You want to reactivate the Winter Soldier?” He hated that epithet; it made him feel like a Homer character, something straight out of the Iliad, complete with his on tragedy. Funny because he was supposed to be Russian, not Greek, and somewhere buried beneath it all there was also the American boy with his cocky smile, who would do anything for his pal.

“There are still too many active HYDRA bases for my liking,” Fury said, which wasn’t really an answer but it was as much confirmation as he would get. “I need to know that I can trust you.”

“And that’s your go? Black ops? What if I go rogue?” _What if they catch me?_ He left unsaid. It scared him more than he would admit. One of the reason he accepted being Fury’s special guest, was because of his fear that he would get caught and had his brain fried again, before being put on the ice, also again. They wouldn’t kill him, of that he was certain, he was too valuable to be wasted, but there were so many fates worse than death, and they were all waiting for him, if HYDRA got him back.

“I have a friend that is going to test you for any trigger words or things like that, but the rest is on you. You are free man, Barnes.” He raised an eyebrow at the word _free_ and Fury shrugged. “Within limits. You’ve got your mission soldier, how’s going to go down is up to you.”

As per usual Fury left him before he could say anything. He was beginning to suspect the man had a thing for the dramatic, either exiting with the final world or leaving without giving an answer, as if to make sure he always held the upper hand. Pierce was a bit like that, too.

He shivered.

Pierce was dead.

He opened the file.

***

The Golden Boy is crying, he still can’t see his face but he can see the tremors running down the small body. The Golden Boy is hurting, he is hugging himself. There is a broken vial close to his feet.

He had seen the older kids running down the street after a girl screamed for the police. He gets there and she tells him Golden Boy defended her when the punks tried to take her purse. They had kicked him on the ribs. The police never came and the girl leaves with a thank you and a sorry upon her lips.

“They br-broke ma’s remedy,” the Golden Boy sobs. He wipes his face on his sleeve but does turn around. “What I’m gonna do, Buck?”

 _It doesn’t matter_ , he wants to say. She’ll be dead the next month. It’s a cruel thing to think, but he knows Golden Boy knows it. The medicine is just to make her comfortable. Death will make her comfortable. It won’t be so kind to him.

He says nothing and just hugs the Golden Boy, burying his face on the blond hair. He can almost fool himself into thinking he can smell the Golden Boy’s scent.

The smell of fresh print reached his nose. He opened his eyes and blinked several times until he could focus on the papers on top of which he had fallen asleep. He could stay awake for hours when on mission, but Fury’s files where so dull they almost made his eyes bleed in boredom.

He got the information he needed, though, and when Fury dropped by later he asked for his gear back.

“Sure,” the director said as if he had expected nothing less. “But first you need to see a man about a thing.”

The next day he acquired two new acquaintances, Tony Stark – the last name sounded familiar, though he didn’t even try to place it – and a constant migraine. He was pretty sure the two of them were related.

The man talked a mile a minute and he wasn’t entirely sure he understood even half of what Stark was on about, but he got the general idea. He was good to go.

Oh, and Stark was in love with his left arm.

“It’s a beauty! I can’t believe the wonders they’ve done with such an ancient tech. Is this your first prosthesis?”

“Uh, third, I think.”

“Only three! In seventy years! Someone’s lazy.” Stark fiddled with the metal arm using some sort of screwdriver. “Either way, don’t get offended, you’re still a beauty,” he was talking to arm. It was disconcerting. And then Stark glanced up at him with pleading eyes. “Oh, can I take it home?” He didn’t wait for an answer and turned to Fury with the same expression. “Can I? Pretty please?”

“Stark,” Fury warned.

“It comes of,” Stark explained with an excited nod, as if that was the only drawback of his request. “I checked.”

After Stark finished and put the metal plates back in place he brought his arm close to his body and tried to shield it with his right one, eyeing Stark with distrust. “I rather keep it.” Stark opened his mouth but something in his expression made him give up whatever he was about to say. “If you could just –” He looked from Stark to the red star on his shoulder. “I want it gone.”

Stark smiled like a kid in a candy shop. “Oh, I have the perfect idea.”

Behind him Fury rubbed his eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

He is with a girl in a dark alley.

She is a pretty thing. Small, narrowed hips, blond hair, blue eyes; they are the wrong shade but she is nice enough. She let him do things most girls don’t like. She told him she is just being smart, she doesn’t want his babies.

He doesn’t know what she’s called but that is not the issue. It’s another name on his lips when he comes, the wrong name. Is just a whisper, but his mouth is too close to her ear and she catches it.

The girl slaps him before running away crying. He wants to cry too.

Tony Stark didn’t erase his star. He painted it white and draw Captain America’s shield around it.

He wanted to strangle Tony Stark.

“I like your new tattoo,” Natalia said as she entered the room and caught him staring at the shield. He was finishing gearing up for his first mission, and judging by her clothing, he wasn’t going alone. “Very fanboy-ish of you.”

He ignored her teasing and focused on closing up his body armor. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing at the bag she was caring.

“This?” Natalia asked with fake innocence as she put the bag on the table. “I come bearing gifts. Merry Christmas, James.”

***                                                                          

The first mission was a HYDRA base in Eastern Russia. It was mostly empty when they got there, safe from a few scared scientists who didn’t know the right side of a gun unless it was being pointed to their faces.

There was no resistance from their part, which resulted in a score of zero causalities. In all honesty, he would prefer it if he could extinguish all of HYDRA from the face of the Earth, but Fury promised he would make sure those people never saw the light of day again.

At least he had the satisfaction of setting the entire base on fire. He sat down on the hill behind the building and watched as the flames brought the whole place down. The mission had gone better than expected, and yet, he couldn’t stop his heart from racing. He had thought he would feel better, but he only felt nauseous.

Natalia sat down next to him.

“You don’t look so good.”

He didn’t feel good. He was trying to remember if he had been in that base before, if he had been stored there, like a sack of frozen beans in a fridge. But the only thing that felt familiar to him was the cold.

“I hate this weather,” he told Natalia, it was all he could share, really. He wasn’t ready to open up; sometimes he doubted he ever would.

“He is looking for you.” He turned so fast to look at her it was a surprise he didn’t break his neck in the process. He gaped at Natalia like a fish out of water. “You may not remember, James, but you’re a very important part of his life. He wants you back.”

For the first time in this relative freedom he felt really and truly sad. He shook his head, turning away from Natalia. “No,” he said as he got up, “it’s not _me_ that he wants.”

Natalia exhaled a frustrated sigh. “You know what I mean.” She got up too and he took a step away from her. “He’s changed, too. He’s not the man Bucky Barnes knew, either.”

“AND I’M NOT BUCKY BARNES!” He roared and for the first time he saw fear in her eyes, directed to him. He looked down and realized his hands were thigh fists, the knuckles of his human hand white from the pressure. His breath was ragged and he felt like he could kill her in that moment.

Natalia just stared at him, as someone wary of a wild animal, unsure of its next move. “Come on, let’s go,” she called in a soothing voice. A tamer trying to put the beast at ease. She seemed to have some experience with that.

He drew in a deep breath, and started to the helicopter without waiting for Natalia; his back deliberately turned to her, in case she decided best to put him to sleep. It was almost disappointing when no tranquilizer hit him on the neck in his way to the chopper. At this point he would welcome unconsciousness with open arms.

***

When they returned to Fury’s bunker he debriefed the mission with Natalia, letting her do most of the talking. He had calmed down by the time they had left Russia, and now he was feeling foolish for his outburst, so he thought it would be wiser to sit back and let her run the show.

On her part, Natalia had chosen to not acknowledge his presence for the rest of the day, leaving him alone with Fury after she was done with her report.

“Something you’re not telling me, Barnes?” Fury asked, jutting his chin towards the door after Natalia left them.

“She said he’s looking for—”, he swallowed down the urge to say _me_. It wasn’t him Rogers was after. Rogers was chasing a ghost. “He’s looking for Bucky Barnes. He ain’t gonna find him.”

Fury scoffed, “Is that so?” He didn’t seem surprise; of course not. The fact that Captain America was out there searching for his long lost friend wouldn’t escape Fury’s notice. “You don’t think you’re him? Funny, ‘cause you answer to the name.” Fury pointed to his head. “Also, the hair.”

“I’ve been to the expo.” He crossed his arms over his chest defensively and looked away from Fury. “I’d literally give away my left arm to be that naïve kid.” He had read every bit of information available on the Smithsonian. There wasn’t much about Barnes for him to make a profile of the person Rogers wanted him to be. Nonetheless, the data he’d put together was enough to tell Bucky was a good man. That only made him feel even more like they were too completely different people.

“Do you really think Barnes was a _naïve kid_?” He shrugged in response, knowing full well Fury would provide an answer himself. “That man survived the Depression. And not alone either. I’m pretty sure if it wasn’t for Barnes the world wouldn’t have Captain America. You know what he did for Rogers. What _you_ did.”

It was almost laughable. Out of everyone that had being trying to put him back together, Fury was the last person he would have expected a pep talk from.

“I know what I did to Rogers.” The mere thought of it made him feel sick. He had never questioned his orders, but there was something about the idea of putting the Captain down that was just _wrong_. “I put him in a hospital, that’s what I did for him.”

“If I’m not mistaken, you’re also the one who pulled him out of the water.” Fury walked to the cabinet behind his desk to pull out a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. He poured a small dose for both of them, sliding one of the glasses in his direction. “Deny all you want, but you’re Barnes alright, and whatever relationship you had with Rogers it’s dead set on your brain. You can’t help it.” Fury waited for him to take the drink, and then raised his own glass. “Here’s to your first mission, soldier.”


	4. Chapter 4

There is a constant coughing sound which fills up the room, it’s making him anxious. He needs to find the source of the sound; he has to make the coughing stop.

His Golden Boy is nowhere to be seen. He is worried. He needs to find Golden Boy, make sure he is all right; he has to do something about the coughing before it gets worse. It’s already worse. _Oh, God please_ –

He doesn’t know how to pray, he can’t remember any of the things the nuns had tried to push into his head at catechism. He wishes he had paid more attention to those. Now he has nothing to hold on to. How is he supposed to talk to God, anyway? There are some things he remembers well enough, and that is the part where the nuns taught about sins. He is full of those in his thick mind. God won’t hear him.

He has got to try, though. This is not for him, God has to understand.

The coughing intensifies, it gets faster, and then it changes, it begins to sound mechanic.

He woke up to the annoying beeping of his newly acquired alarm clock. He hit the damn thing with a pillow; it fell from the table, which was enough to kill the sound. Unfortunately, it didn’t break.

His missions were not all as easy as the first one, not everyone came out alive, not on HYDRA’s part, anyway. Natalia wasn’t always with him, although they managed to go back to their previous status as the closest thing to a friendship he had these days. The two of them made a good team, and the more they worked together the more he realized why. He was familiar with Natalia’s moves, too familiar.

“You shouldn’t be so surprised,” she said while simultaneously kicking a HYDRA goon on the groin. The man yelp in pain and doubled into himself. Natalia used the momentum to knock him unconscious. He took a moment to admire her stealth. She caught him staring. “Don’t let it get over your head. You were not my only teacher, James.”

“Pretty sure I was the best one, though.” It was out before he could even fully register what he had said. And the fact he was joking about his past – that he was joking at all – surprised him. Granted, it was probably an awful memory for both him and Natalia, but it was a long time ago, and judging by her amused snort it was safe ground.

More than one mission ended up with him emptying the contents of his stomach on the floor of the HYDRA bases. It was not as if his memories came rushing back when he saw some thing or another, but there was always an object, a machine, a computer, a gurney, which triggered some kind of muscle memory. He was fully aware of the fact he had been tortured and tempered with, literally, more times than he could remember, but that didn’t prepare him in any way.

Nothing could have prepared him for his latest assignment, for the closed bank, for its vault which had been turned into an improvised laboratory. Because there was something there all parts of him remember all too well, mind and body: the chair.

He began to hyperventilate, and then he was shaking like a leaf hit by the wind. He wanted to flee, for the first time he wanted to abandon the mission and run for his life, but he couldn’t. His feet wouldn’t move. He was stuck where he stood, staring at that thing, with its arms holding the head piece, just waiting for him. He could practically hear the sounds it made, every beep and buzzing. He could definitely still smell the acre odor of piss on the leather of the chair.

Natalia wasn’t with him this time around. Maybe she could have helped, but he was alone today, and later he would wonder if Fury knew. If the former director knew what would happen, and that was why he had made her sit this one out. All of that he would inquire later, now he was just focusing on controlling his breathing.

He closed his eyes. He began to count; he was going to count to ten.

He didn’t make it to five.

He blacked out.

When he woke up he was back at his room at Fury’s bunker. The knuckles of his human hand were sore, he tried to lift his arm to inspect it closer and discover he couldn’t move it. He couldn’t move the metal arm either, or his legs for what that matter. He was strapped to his bed. He looked down on himself and noticed he was covered in blood that was clearly not his, he wasn’t injured.

The HYDRA base had been empty when he got there, he remembered that much.

A sense of dread crept up on him. Who had he hurt? Had he killed anyone?

He was about to freak out when the screaming match going on outside his room finally breached its way through his inner monologue.

“YOU HAD NO RIGHT, YOU HAD NO FUCKING RIGHT”

He knew that voice, he was familiar with that temper, too. A small smile broke on his face. His Golden Boy, he remembered now. But he was so tired, and very much restrained as well. Oh, he was in trouble. He closed his eyes and just listened to Golden Boy’s angry voice, he would make it up to him later. He just needed to take a little nap.


	5. Chapter 5

He is in so much trouble.

“I can’t believe you enlisted!” Oh, that was grand coming from Golden Boy.

He can’t help it; he has to laugh at the outraged tone. “Says the guy who can’t shut up about,” he makes an exaggerated gesture with his arms, “ _doing something_ since Pearl Harbor.”

“This is not fair, what if something happens to you?” The worried voice makes him stop in his track.

“Then I’ll be glad you’re not there.”

“No, I won’t have it. If you’re going, I’m coming too.”

He smiles a little condescend. He knows that the asthma alone is enough to keep Golden Boy out of the game. And man, he’s never thought he would be glad about that damn sickness, but he sure is now. Anything that can keep his Golden Boy safe _gotta be an ally._

“You would, wouldn’t you, punk?”

“Oh, Buck. I’m so sorry.” His Golden Boy sounds so miserable; he turns to look at him.

He opened his eyes.

“Don’t be upset, Stevie,” he asked in a small voice, still feeling a little drowsy. And as he blinked the sleepiness away the face in front of him became clearer.

Stevie.

Rogers.        

Rogers was his Golden Boy.

Rogers was holding his face on his hands. There were tears in Steve’s eyes, but he was smiling through them.

“Yeah, Buck. It’s me, it’s Steve,” his voice broke at his own name. “You remembered.”

“I – I.” He shook his head confused, and tried to make some sense out of the whole situation. For the first time his memory-dream didn’t escape him, more than that, actually. All his other dreams, he could remember them all now. Playing with Steve on the street, saving his ass from bullies, going out on double dates… picking up girls who looked like his friend, because he couldn’t have the real thing. He remembered barging with God to spare Steve, _just this once_ , for so many times he was sure God didn’t believe him anymore.

He realized he was no longer restrained to the bed and used the thumb of his right hand to wipe away a tear from Steve’s eyes.

“Don’t cry, Stevie.” But the request – or maybe the way he said it – had the opposite response, taking another sob from Steve’s lips. He pushed himself up, making room for Steve to sit next to him. “I just have some dreams,” he said softly, not wanting to disappoint Steve, but not wanting to deceive him either. “But I guess they’re more than that, right.” He casted his eyes down and noticed the shattered pieces of what he supposed it to be the straps that had been holding him to the bed before, which raised the question, “Fury?”

“Natasha is with him. They had no right to keep you -- here.” He heard the _from me_ on Steve’s slight hesitation as clear as if he had spoken aloud. Steve let go of his face and sat by his side. “There’s so much I wanna say to you, Bucky.” Steve shook his head. “I should have looked for you, when you fell. I shouldn’t have given you up,” he sighed. “God, I should have jumped after you – like _you_ did.” Steve looked at him with wide eyes, a mortified expression on his face. “You weren’t even yourself and you jumped after me. You must think I’m the worse friend in the world.”

“No,” his voice was not louder than a whisper. “I think you’re the best sight I’ve ever had after waking up.”

“Bucky.”

Steve grabbed his face again, his hands were not so gentle this time but he wouldn’t trade that for the world, because the next thing he knew Steve was leaning in and then they were kissing. He had no way to prove it – not without breaking the kiss and asking Steve, and he wouldn’t do that – but he was almost certain it was the first time.

He’d been out of the ice on and off enough during the years to catch up on some changes in world, and it didn’t escape his notice the fact that man being with man was not that big of a deal anymore.

So he kissed Steve, he kissed his Golden Boy with all he had. Sucking at the bottom lip, using his tongue to explore Steve’s mouth, learning all the things he should have known by now.

He rested his forehead on Steve’s when they broke apart.

“God, I’ve missed you,” Steve breathed out and he let out a breathy laugh of his own, feeling light and giddy like – like he supposed Bucky would feel knowing that all this time Steve had felt the same way about him. The thought overwhelmed him so much he had to close his eyes.

“I wish I could be him again,” he admitted.

“You are.” He shook his head and Steve tightened his hold on him until he stopped. “None of us can go back to be the people we were in the forties. It doesn’t mean we’ve lost ourselves.”

“I can’t even remember my mother’s name,” he tried to argue. “I’m a monster,” he said, making a point of looking down at his bloodied clothes.

“Yeah, such a monster, stopped on his way from dismantling HYDRA to save this girl trapped inside her car after an accident. What do you think brought me here? Is not every day you hear about a metal-arm man saving people.”

“It doesn’t explain why I was strapped to the bed.”

Steve sighed and let go of his face. “Fury’s all about extreme measures,” he said, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “Anyway, you can come with me now… if you want.”

“You – want me to live with you?”

“Of course,” Steve smiled as if that was the obvious course of action. How he could put so much trust on him he would never know – or perhaps it was just another detail he had yet to remember.  “But not just that, I want you on my team again.”

He took both of Steve’s hands on his own, a little self-conscious of the metal but Steve made no comment, or reacted to the cold of it, and it filled his heart with joy that Stevie was such an accepting person.

“Thank you. And yes, I’d like to go with you, but I think I rather keep on doing this under the radar thing for fury.” He kissed Steve’s fingers. “I’ll leave the revenging stuff for you.”

An indignant snort escaped Steve’s lips, though it was clear he was more amused than really annoyed. “Avenging, Barnes, avenging,” he retorted.

“Whatever, it’s a stupid name either way. It was Stark’s idea, wasn’t it?”

“I’m not sure, actually, I think it was Fury’s – wait a minute, how do you know Stark?”

“He, uh, fixed up my arm, I guess.” He felt uncomfortable remembering Tony Stark’s fixation with his metal arm. “He grew quite fond of it.” Steve seemed genuinely disturbed by that bit of information, too.

“Just, don’t let him make your arm self-aware.” He looked at Steve with a confused expression, uncertain of what he was on about. “Don’t let him give it a brain.”

“Noted,” he nodded. Though he still wasn’t entirely sure he understood, he wouldn’t put past Stark giving intelligence to inanimate things; the man looked like half a mad scientist and half a child on a sugar high. Stark seemed perfectly capable of doing crazy shit like that, and judging by Steve’s distress he had already done it.

But Stark wasn’t his main concern at the moment.

Taking a deep breath he looked at Steve with a grave expression. “Are you really sure about this? I might never be that person again.” He knew Steve meant well, but he also had the feeling, from the bits and pieces of his memories, that Steve was the kind of person to make decision on the heat of the moment. The last thing he wanted was for Steve to realize he hadn’t thought it through when he brought an assassin to his home.

“I’m not after a memory, Bucky.” Steve inverted the position of their hands, holding his in a tight grip. “Your mother’s name, the place we grew up, the war, all those things will come to you eventually.” He wasn’t so optimistic but he didn’t want to spoil Steve’s mood by saying it. “We can work on that together. Just, please don’t push me away, Buck. Please.”

The emotions were so thick on Steve’s voice it scared him. He was suddenly terrified that he would let Steve down. He wouldn’t fill up Bucky’s shoes, and even if Steve had said it didn’t matter that would hurt him, anyway.

“You know how I can tell you’re my Bucky,” Steve chuckled softly. “It’s not the face, no, it’s ‘cause I could always read you like an open book, Barnes. I can see the doubt all over your face.”

There was a lump in his throat now and he couldn’t speak. He wanted to believe, he wanted to believe so bad. He wanted a life with this man, he wanted a name to call himself, he wanted… He hadn’t been allowed to want before.

Freeing his hand in a swift movement he flung himself into Steve’s arms, burying his face on the crock of Steve’s neck and breathing in his strong scent, which was both new and familiar at the same time.

“I’ve got you, Buck, I’ve got you,” Steve repeated over and over again as he rubbed soothing circles on his back.

He cried then. Something broke inside of him and he cried. His body shook with the violence of his sobs in hearing those words; words he had been craving for a long time, even if he didn’t know.

His hold on the back of Steve’s shirt was so strong that his metal fingers were tearing the fabric, but it was physically impossible for him to let go now, and Steve didn’t seem to mind, or even notice, so he held on for dear life.

“I’m gonna take you home,” Steve whispered in his ears.

 _You’re home_ , he wanted to say, but when he opened his mouth what came out was just another desperate gasp. So he just closed his eyes and let himself be shielded from his worries by his Golden Boy.


	6. Chapter 6

“But I knew him.” He is not supposed to talk back to his handlers, but he is having trouble concentrating and the words are out before he can think better of it.

His head spins as several images he doesn’t understand flash behind his eyes, and as much as he tries, he is not able to grasp at any of them: the man on the bridge is looking at him from above… someone is dragging him through the snow… he’s is going to be cut to pieces…

He wants to scream but there is something inside his mouth. He thinks about spitting it out, but he knows he’ll need it; otherwise he is going to bite his tongue off, because he knows what is coming. He bites down on the mouth guard and all he can feel is the taste of his own fear.

The sound of his ragged breathing disturbed the silence of the bedroom, he was sure of it, though the only thing he could hear for a moment after waking up was his own heartbeat, loud and fast.

He stared at the ceiling, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the lack of light, as he tried his best to keep still and not wake Steve.

He failed.

Suddenly the lampshade at the other side of the bed threw its yellowed light on his face.

Turning on his side he met Steve’s sleepy eyes looking at him.

“You okay, Buck?” Steve’s voice was rough with sleep. He was the picture of softness, with his tousled hair and the pillow creases on his cheek.

He waited a few seconds for his heart and breathing to go back to normal and then he nodded to Steve.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Now that he had Steve his dreams no longer escaped him after waking up, but even though it was useful and a lot less frustrating than before, not all of his dreams featured his Golden Boy or his life before the fall (he remembered that now), and there were a lot of things he would rather stayed hidden in the dark corners of his mind. But this was something he thought Steve should know.

“I remembered you,” he confessed quietly, and even in the dim light he could still see Steve’s eye lit up. “After our first fight, I knew who you were, kind of.”

Steve sat up then, resting his head against the bedframe and he did the same.

“But what happened? When we met at the Helicarrier –”

“I made the mistake of sharing that with my handlers.” He shook his head, disappointed at himself for being so stupid. “They wiped it out.”

As usual, Steve saw right through him, he took his metal hand and laced their fingers together. “Hey, it’s not your fault, you know that.”

Much like his dreams and nightmares these quiet conversations in the semi darkness of their bedroom became a recurrent event in their lives, and in some way or another it always ended up with Steve reassuring him he was not to blame for the things he did, or the things done to him, as the Winter Soldier. He tried to fight it at first, arguing that he should at least own his actions, but it fell flat every time, so he just accepted now, because deep down he felt nothing but relief knowing that Steve didn’t think he was a monster.

“Doesn’t matter, they’re gone now, for good.” He was ninety seven percent sure that, between his operations with Natalia under Fury’s guidance and the missions Steve ran with his team, they had pretty much cut the remaining heads of HYDRA. Clearly, he would never be completely sure it was really gone, but it was a good score they were keeping, and he wasn’t going to complain.

 He could handle HYDRA if it came slithering back to his life, but right now he had more important things to focus on, like Steve’s bare chest for example. He stared at it; following the track of golden hair he could barely see with the poor lightening down to where it disappeared under the white sheets.

As it turned out, sex with Steve was a hell of a medicine for his wounded mind. But he couldn’t help but to laugh remembering their first pillow talk.

“You and Natasha, did you…?” Steve had asked; red as a tomato and not from their previous activities either. He had no idea of how they had come to that, but there they were, and he had no intention of lying to Steve. That didn’t mean he couldn’t have some fun though, especially after how embarrassed he had been when he took his shirt off and Steve saw his own shied painted on the metal arm.

“Fondue?”

Steve shook his head. “Of all the things for you to remember,” he had laughed, throwing a pillow at him.

“Don’t get your knickers in twist, punk,” he had said as he ducked out of the away causing the pillow to hit the wall behind him. “It was a long time ago, and we were both different people.” He wouldn’t apologized for that, it had been another life altogether and Steve had nothing to worry about.

They had been interrupted by Sam then, and the subject never came up again.

He blinked back to the present and found Steve looking at him with open adoration, they smiled at each other. Leaning forward he planted a chaste kiss to Steve’s forehead, then another one – not so chaste – to his mouth.

After that there was nothing in his mind that wasn’t the man in front of him.

***

“You awake?” he asked, more as a way of starting the conversation than anything, since he already knew Steve was awake by the change of rhythm on his breathing. Steve tightened his hold on his middle and made a humming sound. He wanted to see Steve’s face but he was too comfortable in his position as the little spoon on the cocoon of Steve’s arms to move. “Who’s Rebecca?”

So much for his comfort. The next thing he knew Steve was manhandling him until they were face to face. Steve was radiant, but he didn’t say a word.

“What? Is that – is that my mother’s name?” He had been dreaming he was saving money up, and he was worried because he still didn’t have enough and Rebecca’s birthday was coming.

“No,” Steve beamed at him, which hardly matched the negative. He was beginning to feel frustrated.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Rogers, give me something!”

“Rebecca is your little sister,” Steve finally revealed with a big grin. “You used to crazy about her. You’re the one who picked her name.” It felt right; everything Steve said matched his dream-memory. The name alone spread a warm feeling over his chest. “She – she’s still alive, Buck. She lives in a retirement home, just outside New York. We could go see her – if you want.”

“Do you think… no, I –” The idea frightened him. Steve was all accepting and welcoming, but he had his own unusual circumstances to empathize with him. Rebecca was… normal. Plus, she was an old lady now, and had probably made peace with the loss of her brother; she had got her closure a long time ago. He had no right to shatter her world by opening such an old wound.

“She knows about me,” Steve announced, and something shifted on his eyes then. He glanced at him with a more sober expression. “Buck, Natasha leaked all of S.H.I.E.L.D’s dirty secrets on the internet. Granted, I don’t know how much time the average eighty year old spends online, but… there is a chance she might have heard something about you.”

After that it was easy to make a decision. He hadn’t looked up yet, to see what the internet had on him, mostly because those weren’t the types of memories he was eager to recover, but also because he wanted to remember things on his own terms. However, he was under no illusions that the HYDRA files were all about The Winter Soldier, not Bucky Barnes.

If someone had showed Rebecca those things… it would ruin her memories of her brother, the war hero. He couldn’t do that to her.

“I wanna see her, Stevie. I wanna my sister,” he told Steve, practically bouncing with the energy from his new resolution. “She’s gotta know it wasn’t my fault. She’s gotta know I ain’t a bad person, Stevie. We _have_ to tell her.”

“We will, we’ll tell her,” Steve reassured him with an encouraging smile.

And it wouldn’t be until much later that Bucky would realize he had started to think of himself as James Barnes again. It wouldn’t be until much later – way after Rebecca had given him the best hug of his life and called him a miracle – that Bucky would be sure that he could do this, he could start again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Playlist:  
> Alive - Gabrielle Aplin  
> Start Again - Gabrielle Aplin  
> The Power of Love - Gabrielle Aplin  
> We Did it When We Were Young - The Gaslight Anthem  
> Gale Song - The Lumineers  
> High Hopes - Kodaline
> 
> As you can see, I discovered Gabrielle Aplin as I wrote this fic, and realized all of her songs match my Bucky feelings.


End file.
